


An Empty Suitcase Hurts Just as Much as a Full One

by sumdorkus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, also a bit of no homo john at the end, john is an asshat for sure, maybe u cry?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:45:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4210212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumdorkus/pseuds/sumdorkus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets bored and tries to talk to John.<br/>John gets upset and has a horrible idea. <br/>It all ends very badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Empty Suitcase Hurts Just as Much as a Full One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I've been obsessing over this for like two weeks now.

It’s a normal day at Baker Street; the morning cases have already been wrapped up hours ago and there’s nothing to do. Sherlock’s lying on the sofa, ratty pajamas and pristine robe with a scowl on his face, while John sits in his chair in his usual comfort clothes, scrolling through endless pages of mind numbing articles on several pointless topics with information that he’ll never need to use anytime soon or ever. John finds this quiet comfortable. Sherlock doesn’t.

“Your girlfriend is horrible.” John’s head snaps up, slightly offended and mostly wondering where that comment had come from in the first place.

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s awful. Dreadfully boring, far too plain, and her cat pukes everywhere.” Sherlock’s face pinches as he keeps looking at the ceiling. “Just terrible, really.”

John nearly slams his laptop shut. “Why do you always do this?” He asked, voice clipped and taught with anger.

“Do what?” He looks at John’s face, and feels a sense of dread. Uh oh.

“ _This_! This _thing_ you always do where you nit-pick every single woman I meet until you ruin my relationship!” John’s voice is raised, the vein in his forehead starting to swell and his tone going higher in frustration.

“Oh. That.” Sherlock dismisses it and turns his head to look at the ceiling again.

“ _That_. Yes, Sherlock, _that_. And I’d appreciate if you’d fucking look at me when we’re having a conversation.” John hit’s his hand on the table next to his chair, making his teacup create a quiet chink against the wood. Sherlock turned his head and looked at John.

“I do it because if you don’t you might marry them.” He explained, as if it was obvious enough. John’s chest swells as he takes a huge deep breath in. His lips tuck in his mouth and he’s staring at Sherlock with a look of pure anger for several moments before he lets all of the air out of his chest again and stands.

“That’s it. I’m done.” He states. Now Sherlock is the one left confused.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m done. I’m leaving.” Sherlock turns his head to look at the ceiling again, face going to stone even though it feels as if he’s falling into an open pit.

“Oh.”

“ _Oh_? That’s it?” John asks, somehow even angrier about the fact that Sherlock has nothing else to say.

“Your life, your choices.” Sherlock says, hand tightening minutely where it rests by his legs. He’s hoping that this is just a test by John, that he’s not actually leaving. ‘Ha ha! I really had you there, mate!’

John storms off to go upstairs to his room and Sherlock listens while he’s stuck frozen in place. He counts John’s steps, remembers the set up of John’s room, and hears the definite drag of the suitcase from under John’s bed. Sherlock feels like he can’t breathe now, on the verge of panicking but remaining stoic on the surface. He hears drawers chafe as they’re opened and slammed shut, the doors on the closet rattle, and the heavy, strong and steady footsteps of John as he comes back down. He doesn’t look at Sherlock, and Sherlock doesn’t look at him.

Sherlock doesn’t move at all. Doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink, barely even thinks, until John slams the door shut behind him and Sherlock flinches and crumples in on himself. He can’t cry, the tears won’t come out and his chest feels far too empty to even try and sob. He’s just stuck staring off in horror at what he’s done as he thinks over and over again ‘ _John’s gone. John’s gone. John’s really fucking gone and it’s his fault. He did this, he always fucking does this._ ’ When he finally breathes out again it’s choked and painful and he feels so empty it’s like he’s had everything scooped out of him. It hurts, and he doesn’t know what to do or how to fix it.

The door to the flat is opening again and John is dropping his suitcase at the kitchen with a hollow thunk.

“I didn’t actually pack anything. And I’m not leaving, I-“ John stops talking when he sees Sherlock turned over on his side looking terrified. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock looks up at John and suddenly his eyes are getting wet and his throat is tight and he can’t say anything. John immediately engulfs him in a hug, tucking his chin on top of Sherlock’s head. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s John. Sherlock drags in a shuddering breath and blinks rapidly as hot, searing tears spill down his face and he sobs. John squeezes him so hard he barely manages to get his arms up and around John. “You can’t-“ He swallows, nearly chokes, and tries again. “You can’t… you can’t do that. Don’t do that again. Please.” He sniffles and buries his face in John’s neck. “Not unless you mean it. Please.” He balls John’s shirt in his fists as though his he holds it hard enough then John will be forced to stay.

“I won’t.” John shakes his head vigorously and smoothes a hand down Sherlock’s hair clumsily. Sherlock continues crying and then starts talking again, trying to stop crying.

“That was… so scary.” Sherlock takes a shuddering breath. “I hate it. I hate this. I hate-“ His voice cracks and he has to stop and just breathe for a while. He breathes with John and John breaths with him and after he calms down a little more he keeps talking. “I _despise_ feeling like this. It’s horrible. I hate it.” After another long moment of silence John took a turn to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

Afterwards they never talk about it. John makes sure never to get too close into Sherlock’s personal space for the following few weeks, or make direct eye contact the day after. Sherlock keeps to himself, but John checks in regularly to let Sherlock know where he is and what he’s doing from then on, and then the balance is restored and Sherlock is left repressing his feelings again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry...  
> But am I really? Please let me know if you hate me for this or not?


End file.
